Killing Harry Potter
by H.E. Gray
Summary: Blaise Zabini has been informed that Harry Potter must die. Somehow, though, nothing seems to work out as it should. Slash, oneshot, some swearing.


**Disclaimer: **Yeah, characters aren't mine. Woo.

**A/N: **Not too enthusiastic about the ending; crit welcome. Slash, Oneshot. Doom.

**Kill Harry Potter  
****(or the teddy bear gets it)**

_Blaise,_

_I have spoken to a person that we both know of, and we have managed to come to an agreement that will benefit all involved. You are to kill Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Has-Lived-Far-Too-Long and then bring his ashes to us so we can dance on them, as tradition decrees._

_Try to be Slytherin about it, and please don't get caught. If you do, eat this note and make sure you do not incriminate me._

_Your loving and adoring, wonderful, beautiful, modest, etc, etc, Mother._

_(P.S. Lord Voldemort says if you fail, your teddy gets it)_

Blaise Zabini crumpled the note up and shooed the owl off his food irritably. It seemed his ostentatiously neutral Mother was no longer ostentatiously neutral, and had somehow managed to have her much beloved only son dragged up into her idiotic schemes – and with an evil overlord who's best threat was apparently that he was holding Blaise's teddy hostage.

Unsurprisingly, Blaise was singularly unimpressed with this threat (he'd dumped his teddy in the bottom of his closet over ten years ago and had forgotten about it; he was particularly unconcerned if said teddy was to 'get it') and was instead, quite worried at the state of the wizarding world if this man had managed to terrorise it in the first place. It was only respect for his mother and the inheritance that she was to dedicate to him when she died – hopefully soon – that stopped him from sending a note back with contents somewhere along the lines of 'hahahano.'

It was also concern over his sizable inheritance that stopped him from dismissing the idea of killing Harry Potter out-of-hand. Blaise glanced over to the Gryffindor table subtly, noting Harry Potter sitting in the centre of the table. His black hair was messy as usual (and there was no way that they were the ebony locks that one girl had described wistfully) and his eyes were… well. Green. Green as a fresh-pickled toad if he remembered correctly, from the weeks Draco had spent howling over a certain incident in their second year.

Something last year had changed him though – he was no longer the glowering teenaged boy, throwing strops every other way, but a glowering teenage boy who was throwing curses every other way and practically radiating 'hero' to anyone who came within fifty metres of him. Blaise watched as he tilted his head towards the red-head, listening to what he was saying with a thoughtful expression on his face.

Hm. This was going to be hard.

It was only when he had left the Great Hall, trying to think up a suitably evil plot, that he realised he was going to try to kill Harry Potter.

* * *

Defence Against the Dark Arts. Snape would let him get away with murder in here – literally. A few words before the lesson had resulted in Blaise and Potter being paired up for a private duel, and it was only after Potter started attacking him with the regulated curses they were allowed to use, that Blaise realised this might possibly be a bad idea.

Because _Hades_ this boy was fast. Curse after curse was directed his way, and it was only Blaise's wavering shields that kept him from being blasted halfway across the room. Try to kill Potter in a duel? Right. Brilliant idea that.

As Potter stepped back, his attention diverted by Granger falling to the ground across the room, cursed by Draco, Blaise seized the moment and threw a vicious burning curse at the boy. This proved yet another bad idea, as Potter rebounded it with a quick wand movement, obviously not even thinking about what he was doing, and it hit Blaise's wand hand.

Blaise spent the rest of the afternoon in the hospital wing.

* * *

It was in a bad mood that Blaise walked back to the Slytherin Common Room on Thursday morning. Pomfrey had spent quite a long time, fretting over the 'poor young boy' and frankly, he was surprised he hadn't cursed her. Draco didn't bother looking up to greet him, too busy poring over a chessboard while Theodore Nott looked obnoxiously smug, and Blaise spent some time glaring around.

It took some persuasion to get Pansy to agree to sell him a letter curse, and a quick obliviate to take his money back and make her forget she had ever even considered selling him one. Sending it off, addressed in elegant red ink, to one 'Harry James Potter', Blaise headed down to the Great Hall in a better mood.

He entered the room, just in time to see the letter arrive – and just in time to be hit by Potter waving the curse away, straight into him.

Back to the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey.

* * *

_Perfect_, he thought gleefully as they walked into Potions on Friday afternoon. Slughorn had them making the Draught of the Living Death, a certain potion with some very volatile ingredients in – and the ginger root, when crushed, would explode quite spectacularly in conjugation with the shredded wolfsbane that Blaise planned on dropping in Potter's potion.

And then it would be goodbye Harry Potter, and hello Blaise Zabini's inheritance. All would be well in the world once more, Lord Voldemort might actually succeed in something other than threatening a sixteen year old boy and… well, that was as far as Blaise's dreams went.

The Potions lesson went by with the crawling intensity of a flobberworm. Blaise went up to the front as he saw Harry pull out his ginger root, and talked to Slughorn for a few moments, flattering the fat idiot with great subtlety (unlike Draco, who just sulked in a corner). On the way back, he brushed his hand across Potter's cauldron and let the wolfsbane slip in, just as Potter added his – shredded ginger root?

Oh _shit_.

Blaise had no time to react as the potion exploded in his direction, and Potter dived on him, knocking him out of the force of the explosion, even as a pale purple liquid splattered gently across them. Shredded ginger root, added in with wolfsbane combined to make…

His breath caught in his throat as Potter leant down, and he felt his hands wrap around Potter's waist of their own volition. Lips brushed against his own, and for a second he was breathless-

And then they were both reeling backwards, shocked looks on their faces.

Ah. They combined to make a mild love potion, wearing off after a few seconds.

Bugger.

At least he wasn't in the Hospital Wing.

* * *

Saturday afternoon. Blaise was walking down towards the Slytherin Common Room, sulking over the failure of his oh-so-cunning plans, when he walked into a solid shape. A solid human shape that, with his luck, just had to be Harry Potter.

Blaise looked up with faint apprehension, going pale as he saw the dangerous look on Harry's face – why had he suddenly become Harry, not Potter? – and the extended wand. He took a few steps back, only stopping when he reached the wall and tried to say something, his heart hammering wildly, but had to clear his throat several times before he could get a word out.

"If this is about yesterday, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to drop the wolfsbane in, it just happened and, you know, killing people is not a good way to go." Blaise Zabini didn't babble. Zabinis, on a whole, did not babble.

Harry stared at him with those flat green eyes, and Blaise was forced to admit, that yes, he did babble.

"And, if it's about the… er… times I tried to, y'know, kill you before that… er… I didn't succeed so… Forgive and forget? That's what all you Gryffindorks – er, Gryffindors do, right?" He smiled weakly, but in the time it had taken Blaise to stammer this out, Harry had come disturbingly close, leaning in until their noses were almost touching – and Blaise felt his heart stop in fright. _He'sgoingtokillme, he'sgoingtokillme _his mind chanted in abject terror and he opened his mouth helplessly.

"Er," he got out, intelligently. "You know, we… er…" Harry's eyes snapped with annoyance, and Blaise swallowed.

"For once in your fucking life, Zabini," Harry growled, and Blaise could feel the words, warm breath gusting against his skin. "Shut. Up."

Blaise made an unidentifiable noise, somewhere along the lines of 'eeppleasedontkillme', and Harry pulled back slightly to stare at him, a strange look in his eyes. "You are _incompetent_ Zabini," he said at long last, using on hand to pin Blaise against the wall.

Blaise would have protested, but he had the feeling it wouldn't be appreciated and he was all not annoying the person pushing him against a wall, especially when they had a wand. Instead, he settled for a slightly hesitant, "Er – okay?"

"Why on earth did your mum let you out without a bloody keeper?" Harry continued, scowling slightly.

"Hey!" Blaise protested now, forgetting his not-annoying policy. "My mother was the one who told me-"

He was cut off by Harry putting a hand over his mouth – the hand he had previously been using to pin Blaise – and staring at him. Blaise shut up.

"I've been watching you for ages," Harry said, and that was enough of a shock for Blaise to forget the indignity of his position and the scary boy in front of him. He blinked, Harry smirked. There was something wrong about that. "You know that the potion was so mild that it would only affect people that already had feelings for one another?"

Blaise stared at him, and Harry seemed to take that as an invitation to lean in again, taking his hand away. "You're mine, Blaise," he whispered, and then he was biting down on the Slytherin's lip, kissing him as if the world was about to end.

Oh. Well. That was okay then. Maybe. Blaise was sort of confused, and unable to think properly at this strange turn of events, especially when his mouth was thus occupied, but what he did realise was that Harry Potter was a pretty good kisser.

And that made everything alright.

A few days later, much to Harry's bewilderment and Blaise's amusement, a severed teddy bear's head turned up in the morning post.


End file.
